


In the Hands of the Press

by samwise_baggins, Steve-Bucky-Stucky (Chemical30)



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Drug Addiction, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Medical Trauma, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-29 04:51:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8476111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samwise_baggins/pseuds/samwise_baggins, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chemical30/pseuds/Steve-Bucky-Stucky
Summary: The eldest of the four children, James Barnes, when he makes an appearance it makes headlines and for all the right reasons. While scandal inevitably follows people in fame and wealth, he hasn’t set a foot wrong. There are those looking for the juiciest story yet, the ‘reality’ behind the perfect mask of James Barnes. And he’s been missing from the spotlight for three months. Steve Rogers is an up and coming reporter; he’s been longing to prove himself, and he stumbles upon the secret the entire mansion had been trying to hide for three long months: the truth behind James Barnes. The question is, what to do with this discovery?





	1. The Mystery

A pleasant voice, sounding a bit over-eager with the barest technical echo, overlaid the visuals of the guests in expensive clothing and equally pricey jewelry. Pausing on the red carpeted walk to the grand ballroom, on their way to attend a thousand dollar a plate charity event in the Washington, DC Four Seasons Hotel, politicians, celebrities, and other wealthy patrons chatted and posed for the ever present cameras.

"And here they are: the incomparable Senator George Barnes and his lovely wife, District Attorney Winifred Barnes in a stunning black _Donna Karan_ dress. Her tireless efforts on behalf of the family's pet charity, _Paws for Our Heroes_ , has matched many a wounded veteran or civil servant with a highly trained service dog. The Senator and his wife have been listed as the Power Couple of the Year and are already a crowd favorite if he confirms his rumored bid for the White House."

Among the guests exiting their vehicles and giving impromptu mini-interviews was the stocky figure of Senator George Barnes, with greying blond hair and intelligent blue eyes, he was in his mid-fifties but seemed to have the energy and dedication of a man half his age. On his arm strolled his wife, District Attorney Winifred Barnes, her slinky black gown clinging to her very shapely figure; for a woman in her early forties, she was still absolutely stunning. The red-haired, brown-eyed woman and her escort paused to smile and chat with acquaintances before finally disappearing up the carpeted steps and allowing the spotlight to shine on the next pair.

"Here comes Miss Rebecca Barnes, soon to be graduate of the university of Cambridge, where she is just beginning her final year following in her father's illustrious footsteps with a degree in Human and Political Sciences. She is escorted by her brother, Matthew, who has just finished his first year at Stanford University, his mother's Alma Mater, in the field of Environmental Sciences. This duo is set to save the world in style."

Wearing a short black gown and stiletto heels, the pretty twenty-one year old with deep auburn hair and mischievous blue eyes moved with the grace born of long hours in a dance studio. Well known for her outrageous shopping binges and the opalescent Lexus she drove too fast, Becca Barnes was a constant delight to headline grabbing paparazzi and a borderline acceptable role-model for aspiring young college-bound women.

There was no doubt Matthew Barnes was his father's son with light blond hair and deep blue eyes; his pale good looks were envied by less beautiful males and fawned over by marriage-minded females, and he wore his clothes to delicious perfection, especially his black custom-fitted tuxedo. As the middle son in a family of strict conservatives Matt was often singled out for his quick temper and empty pockets, known to spend his time and money on fast women, loud parties, and questionable substances. He'd been in rehab twice and currently sported a monitoring anklet with his fancy black tux.

"They are followed by their younger brother, Elijah Barnes, attendee at National Cathedral School, the private school currently ranked highest in the capitol for educational values. He is a participant for the Raiser Environmental Fellowship in which he'll be researching the ongoing effects of acid rain on our oceans and its contribution to the decreasing polar caps: an ambitious young man hoping to be considered for early admittance to Stanford."

Having inherited his mother's deep red hair and father's short stocky build, Elijah Barnes appeared to be built for heavy sports. The sixteen year old followed behind his older siblings looking bored and rather annoyed. Dubbed the Barnes Bad Boy, in a group of rebellious _'entitled youths,'_ Lij was the stand-out for sheer audacity. He often could be found in the emergency room for various extreme sport injuries or the police station for _'borrowing'_ random vehicles to joyride in, despite not yet having his own license. He had been cajoled into attending the charity event and wore his black tuxedo well, despite his severe scowl.

The voice seemed to be relieved to finally be reporting the honest truth rather than edited sound bites heavily censored for public consumption.

"Ah, the man of the moment, we know the crowds have been eagerly awaiting the appearance of charity _Paws for Our Heroes_ founder, James Barnes, with the Barnes' family pet, Winter. I supposed he's been invited in representation of all the canines processing through this noble charity. The eldest of the Barnes siblings, James has been dubbed the _'golden boy of politics'_ and is the confirmed _'darling of the media.'_ Considered one of the world's most eligible bachelors, and having just graduated Summa Cum Laude with his doctorate in Linguistics from M.I.T., James is considered one of the most valuable assets in his father's arsenal. Many have wondered if the personable heir to the Barnes' empire will follow in his father's footsteps. As founder of _Paws for Our Heroes_ , tonight's charity of choice, we can already see a bright future for the _'country's sweetheart'_."

Tall and lean with neatly styled, nut brown hair and laughing grey-blue eyes, the twenty-six year old media-dubbed _'golden boy'_ stepped out in his navy blue tuxedo, loosely holding the leash of a very well-trained white German Shephard. Smiling easily as he led the acclaimed family pet to the charity event benefiting veterans and canines alike, James Barnes embodied the very essences of a rising politically-minded star. He had quickly stood out amongst his siblings and peers for never causing, or even being on the fringe of, scandal. Chairman of the Board of the family's pet charity, one he was credited with founding, James put himself forward to help others and the country adored him for it.

The picture froze as Editor-in-Chief Nick Fury hit the video pause. He turned a gimlet eye over his staff gathered together in a small back office at the up and coming investigative magazine, _Project Insight_. Frowning, the former war correspondent barked in a military sharp tone, "and that, people, was the last day anyone set eyes on James Buchanan Barnes. After the dinner event for his charity, his car was seen arriving at the Senator's mansion, following his mother and middle brother, Matthew, in her car. No one has been able to place him after he went into the mansion and none of our normal sources: servants, staff, passersby, disgruntled stalkers, were even able to place him as having slept in his own bed that night. He has, for all intents and purposes, evaporated from the Earth three months ago."

Twenty-four year old Steve Rogers tapped his pen against his notepad as he listened and jogged down notes, the pad of paper almost completely filled with his nearly illegible scrawl. His bright blue eyes focused on the frozen picture of James Barnes, the brunet’s warm, kind smile. Steve had been working at _Project Insight_ for almost a year now, and a constant topic of discussion throughout the office was what trouble the Barnes’ children would get into next or what cause Winifred fought. The blond felt like he knew the family, despite never actually meeting any of them. 

Leaving the image on the screen, Fury turned fully to the reporters working for him. "Now, normally, I could give a flying damn about what the scion of the politically selfish do; however, the case of James Barnes is different. His public persona is that of a genuinely good person, and so far we haven't been able to find evidence proving otherwise: not even so much as a notice for skipping classes in kiddie school. I want to know why! No one's that goddamned perfect, especially a politician's kid."

Steve scowled softly; he never did like trying to ruin someone’s image, maybe that was why he hadn’t moved up in the office, still doing the everyday menial tasks of filing, sorting mail, or researching for a story but never getting the actual credit. James Barnes seemed like a honestly good man; why did people want to see him fail so badly? Jotting another note on the last line of the page, Steve looked back up at his Editor in Chief. 

Crossing his arms over his chest, Fury growled out, "I want information. I don't care how you get it short of embarrassing us by sleeping with your source. Is he in rehab? Banished? Dead? What did he do, why is he hiding, and how the fuck are they managing to cover it up? Dig in the trash. Track down the girl he kissed in third grade. Check their carefully bullshit-centric social media pages. Follow them on _Tumblr_. I don't care how, get me that story!"

Capping his pen and flipping the cover shut on his worn, leather notebook, Steve scooped up his items and pushed away from the table, the chair scraping against the wooden floor. 

As the main reporters filed out of the room, Fury turned his eye on the newer intern and the man he was shadowing. "Wilson, take your new right hand and cover the political fluff: the history of the family and their home, the spectacular school and community commitments of the kids, even the backstory of the charity. Get yourselves into that mansion and stay as long as it takes. Whatever we can't find with real grit, we'll be filling with your fluff, so get me enough for two magazines. You do good and you'll be in line for one of the two new reporter openings, which I am sure you prefer to copyboy." He looked down but his head shot up immediately, "if anyone can link the disappearance of the damn family dog to the ongoing charity, follow it! Now go!"

Looking at the man he’d been assigned to shadow, Steve felt almost relieved that _they_ wouldn’t be the ones trying to dig up dirt and ruin James Barnes’ perfect public image. However, Fury’s offer of a promotion wasn’t missed by the blond. If they did a good job, found credible, usable information, a permanent investigative journalist job could be waiting for both of them. 

With a sigh, Sam Wilson stood and looked at his intern. He nodded his head towards the hall and turned to leave the small office.

Steve followed the dark-skinned man out of the room; as soon as the door shut behind them, he leaned in closer and said, “you hear that?”

“Yeah, we’re on dog finder duty. Can you believe this shit?” Sam shook his head in disgust.

“But if we _do_ find that dog . . . or whatever . . . we could get permanent spots on the team!” Steve said. 

The dark-skinned reporter turned to his intern with a slight shake of his head. “Not for finding a dog, Steve. You didn’t see that for what it was? Fury’s putting us on the back burner. That’s the idea of a fluff piece, filler for the important stories. We’ll be going to an endless round of tours, meets, and other functions like we’re the god-damned glamor pages instead of real journalists!” Sam shoved notebooks, pens, and a few other odds and ends into his briefcase.

Steve’s smile fell and he shook his head, grabbing his satchel off of his desk. Putting his notebook and pen back inside the bag, the tall blond said softly, “well, we will still have press badges . . . we’ll be able to have more access.”

“And their total public faces and penned speeches,” Sam groused. “C’mon, rookie, let’s go on tour of the mansion.” He shook his head in disgust as he led the other reporter out to a waiting car. “There’s only one good thing I can think of in our fluff piece,” he slid into the backseat of the press car.

Sliding in next to Sam, the blond intern asked, “and what would that be?”

“I’m not the one that’s gonna be tearing down the golden boy,” Sam said. “If he’s been pretty much perfect and well-behaved for twenty-six years, why would he set a toe wrong now that his father’s considering moving on to the real big house? That would be the dumbest thing anyone could do.”

“We don’t know what happened to him . . . just that he disappeared,” Steve offered as he buckled his seatbelt. 

Snorting, Sam looked at Steve. “Probably on some sort of off-the-grid holiday. He just completed eight years of intense schooling at the number one linguistics school in the world, Steve. The guy deserves a break. Probably took the family dog with him . . . that hound never goes anywhere with the others, just James.” Sam buckled his own belt and signaled the driver to take them to the Senatorial mansion. “But like I said, at least we don’t have to try to dig up dirt where none exists.”

Steve hoped that Sam was right, that there wasn’t any dirt to dig up on James. 

“I mean, if the guy really did something horrible, he would deserve the bad press, right? But the man has worked with half a dozen charities, and even started this one that matches dogs with vets and firefighters and cops and stuff who need them. Out of all the public figures in the world, I can name the good ones on one hand. And he’s one of them.” Sam sighed. “But the others are going to try their best to dig up and manipulate any fact that supports their personal favorite rumor.”

“Well, then we find out the truth. If James really is just on a break or something . . . that can be our story. Save the guy from any slanderous stories,” Steve said, determined; if Sam was right and James Barnes only went missing to take some sort of sabbatical . . . the man deserved to have his public image intact. 

Turning to Steve with a grin, Sam said, “wouldn’t _that_ be the ultimate fluff piece? Finding out he went camping with his dog for three months? I would absolutely love to hand that piece in to Fury just to see his look! I mean, there’s not even a whiff of this guy dating, much less getting anywhere near knocking up some model. And James Barnes on a drug binge? Mr. Designated Driver himself? Doubtful. Suicide? Why? He just graduated and has the world open to him. There’s no reason for him to off himself.”

“Pressure of being America’s _‘golden boy.’_ I couldn’t imagine being under the microscope for my entire life . . . everyone just waiting for me to screw up.” Steve shuddered, honestly glad to have been on the opposite side of the scope. Yeah, he might be a striving journalist, but that didn’t mean he agreed with everything that came along with his chosen career. 

With a shake of his head, Sam informed Steve, “the kid was born to it, fed politics with his baby food. His mother’s father was a Supreme Court Justice and his father’s people were all involved in congress in one way or another. He comes from a long line of politics on both sides, Those kinds of kids thrive on the public adoration.”

“I don’t know, Sam,” Steve shook his head, “the guy is only human. Everyone has their breaking point, right?”

“Yeah, but did you see the guy at his charity event? A thousand dollar a plate dinner and every seat was filled. He was on top of the world, man. Why would he off himself now?” Sam sighed and sat straighter as the car eased down the long driveway of the Senatorial mansion. Whistling low, the reporter stared openly at the sprawling multi-leveled home. The place looked more like a modern castle than a one-family residence. “Damn!”

Ducking his head to look out the window, Steve’s mouth dropped open slightly, “this is how the one-percent lives, huh?”

As the car eased to a stop, Sam breathed, nodding, “yeah, now you tell me the guy is going to kill himself.” He shook his head and unbuckled his belt.

Following Sam out of the car, Steve slung his bag over his shoulder and stared up at the sprawling mansion in front of him.

Stepping up next to his intern, Sam said “do, you want internal tour or gardens, Steve? I’m thinking you should take the outdoors . . . less cooped up and far less bullshit to sort through.”

Nodding, Steve looked around at the expansive lot, lush green grass and aesthetically placed trees through the large outdoor space. The blond could even make out a small pond and a greenhouse in the distance. 

“While your sight seeing, Steve, keep an eye out for the dog or a fresh grave or whatever. If we’re given dog watch and fluff, by God, we’ll do it full out.” Sam headed for the front steps so he could join the public tour of the inside.

Chuckling softly, Steve hitched his satchel strap so that it crossed over his chest, and began to walk around the public space, taking in all the beautiful scenery; he felt the sudden urge to draw. Finding practically the perfect spot, a small bench in a wide well-lit space surrounded on three sides by riotous flowers and one side the weather-aged stone of the mansion, the siren call of putting pen to paper became nearly overwhelming. As Seve fought the temptation, yet toyed with the idea, a soft moan eerily wavered over the garden and the lone man standing there.

Steve’s spine stiffened and he instantly whirled around to face the direction in which the sound had come from. “Hello?” 

A darkly curtained set of windows looked blindly over the beautiful summer garden. The sound had seemed to come from there, but that made little sense. First, who would cover up the windows on such a warm day?

“Mama?” the voice sounded soft, wrecked, haunting.

Stepping closer to the windows, gravel from the walkway crunching quietly underfoot, Steve looked at the darkened space, attempting to see if he could make out anything from the room. Looking around, the journalist noted that the room was towards the back of the large mansion, and that there was a door to the space. Swallowing hard, Steve wrapped his hand around the door knob, completely shocked to find that it was unlocked.

Pushing open the door slowly, peeking his head inside, Steve called out again, “are you okay?”

He was greeted with the sight of a long dark hall lined with doors. Right near the outer wall, lining up with the vicinity of the windows, stood a door with light spilling out from under it. A large white furred animal poked its head through that specific doorway and let out a soft, huffling woof.

Sliding into the hallway, letting the door shut softly behind him, Steve’s eyes widened at the sight of the missing dog! This was Winter, James’ beloved pet! Stepping forward warily, hands stretched out in front of his body, Steve cooed gently, “hey boy, are you here all by yourself?”

The dog tilted his head then huffled again, as if used to keeping his voice muffled. Turning, the dog pushed open the storage room door with his head. Inside the room, a soft, pain-filled voice, sounding half out of it, called “Mama?”

Taking a deep breath, Steve looked around, and once he was sure there wasn’t anyone in the general vicinity, the blond stepped forward and pushed the door open wider. 

The large storage room had been emptied of all crates and boxes. Instead, a single hospital bed sat to one side, a table and a pair of chairs nearby but plan and empty. On the bed lay a man with bandages along his left arm and shoulder. His face was flushed, his eyes bloodshot and slightly watery. His dark hair was almost stringy and definitely could use a washing. He was dressed in a pair of boxers and a T-shirt, damp with sweat and clinging to his lean frame. There was a series of straps tying him into the bed as well. No one else appeared to be in or even near the room.

As the man’s bandaged left arm suddenly jerked and spasmed, he moaned out “Mama?” His voice sounded more pained than the other times he’d called out. The dog walked over and nuzzled the man’s right hand, large green-gold eyes as worried as a dog’s could be.

Steve’s eyes widened; he’d recognize the man anywhere, even if he was completely disheveled and in obvious pain, this man was James Barnes, hidden in the mansion itself, where no one thought to look! Steve’s blood rushed through his ears and his hands clenched in fury. What type of people strapped their own son to a bed and then just left him to fend for himself? The room felt stuffy and the heat was almost unbearable for Steve; he couldn’t imagine what it felt like to James.

Stepping closer to the bed, Steve’s eyes softened and he fought the urge to brush a stray lock of hair that was plastered to James’ sweat-dampened forehead.

“Please . . .” James moaned softly, weakness threaded through his rasping voice. “Mama? Some water, please?” The man’s normally beautiful grey-blue eyes were dull and nearly completely grey under the bloodshot, watery appearance.

Looking around, Steve found a pitcher and a glass of lukewarm water sitting on the table; filling the glass halfway, the blond began to undo the straps across the lean man’s chest. 

“What happened to you?” Steve asked softly as he brought the glass carefully to James’ lips.

The brunet rolled his eyes towards Steve. Softly, he asked, “where am I? Do I know you?” He sipped the drink thankfully, eyes still searching Steve’s face.

“You’re at home,” Steve answered softly, his heart breaking at the sight of the man he’d always thought to be put together and strong; this man looked broken. 

Letting out a soft huff, the dog picked up his head and placed his furry chin on James’ hand. His eyes stared intently at his master, tail quivering in worry.

“Home . . . good,” James responded, sounding relieved. “Hurts . . .”

Steve set the glass of water down and bit his lip, unsure of what to do. He didn’t know how to administer medication, and obviously James was on some pretty heavy stuff. Instead the blond walked over to the curtained windows and slid them open, an immediate breeze blowing through the heated space.

Groaning in a sound of faint pleasure, James turned his head almost blindly towards that refreshing air.

Turning back towards the bed, Steve asked quietly, “do you have a nurse or something? Anyone?” What he wanted to do was call the cops; this was abuse! James should be in a hospital . . . not strapped to some bed alone in a stuffy storage room. 

“Jack and Brock . . .” he named two unknown people. “My handlers,” he continued, forcing his eyes open. “Hurts . . . so much . . .” his arm began spasming again.

Unable to hold back any longer, Steve gently pushed the lock of hair away and nodded; he cooed, “I bet it does . . . do - - do you know where they are? I can go get them?”

“No,” James panted. “Food maybe?”

Steve looked around the room again, out of all the possibilities behind the reason of James Barnes’ disappearance, restrained in a storage room, alone, high on heavy painkillers was the last thing Steve expected to be true.

James picked up his right hand slightly to settle it back down on his dog’s soft head. “Can you feed Winter?” the brunet asked, voice taking on an edge of worry beyond his own pain.

Looking back at the injured man, Steve nodded, “where’s his food?”

“Kennels,” James responded then fell into a whimper. “Hurts . . .” his arm spasmed harshly.

“The damn kitchen staff is getting more and more snobbish, Jackie. Insisting that it’s not on the schedule. Bull shit. He eats when he can . . . and he’s not awake enough to eat enough.” A stocky black-haired man dressed in a suit with an earwig stopped stock still in the doorway, dark eyes widening. “Who the hell are you?”

Steve froze, eyes going wide, and he debated jumping out the opened window. “I - - uh . . . I heard him crying out from the gardens . . .” the blond swallowed and looked back at the man in the bed again before snapping his attention back to the two guards.

“Jackie, block him from leaving,” the man with the tray ordered coldly. He set the tray on a table and began checking over the injured man in the bed. “If you so much as touched him, I swear you will regret it for the rest of your life!” 

The taller man, Jackie, crossed his arms and blocked the door, looking at Steve with a cold glare. 

“I gave him water!” Steve snapped, feeling a little offended for being the one treated with disdain when these two guys left an obviously pained and defenseless man strapped to a bed by himself.

“You okay, Bucky?” the guard asked and James nodded slightly.

“Arm hurts . . .”

The guard shook his head. “The drugs are wearing off quicker and quicker, Jackie. I think we need to break protocol and get him a doctor.” Finally straightening, the guard looked at Steve. “I don’t think he did anything to our guy, Jack.”

“I didn’t!” Steve answered quickly, “I swear. He was calling out for his mom? And then he asked for water . . . that’s all!” The blond knew he was big and had plenty of muscle to help him out, but he knew he couldn’t take both these guys if they decided to get violent. 

Looking over at his partner, the muscular man said, “whatcha think, Jack?”

Jack narrowed his eyes further but didn’t move from his spot by the door, “he’s telling the truth. But what do we do now? No one’s supposed to know Bucky’s here.”

Sighing, the man ran a hand through his hair. “Well, we ain’t gonna kill the guy just because he stumbled on Bucky.” Shaking his head, the man added, “let me think, Jack.”

“He needs a hospital!” Steve said, gesturing to James, “what the hell is going on? Why was he strapped to the bed?”

“So he didn’t roll out again while we were getting his food,” the shorter answered promptly.

“Brock . . . we’re gonna have to tell Senator and Mrs. Barnes about this,” Jack added, finally stepping further into the room but not leaving Steve’s way out completely open either.

“Yeah, damn, I was hoping we could avoid that.

James interrupted the three way near-discussion with a heartfelt moan of “Hurts, please . . .” His arm spasmed so bad it seemed to clench up and refuse to loosen. James screamed, loudly.

Jumping forward, the guard called Brock began trying to help, but he was obviously at a loss.

“He needs a doctor!” Steve ground out, “a real doctor.” 

“Yeah, no shit!” Brock growled back, “but trying to get that through their thick heads is impossible!”

Steve shook his head, “my Ma’s a nurse . . . I can call her? She’ll be discreet? He needs help!” The blond looked down at the writhing brunet, his heart aching in sympathy and the need to protect the defenseless man.

“Betcha anything it’s the nerves, Jack,” Brock muttered darkly. “I think that first doc didn’t get all the bone chips out and it’s hitting his nerves.”

“Maybe we should take him up on the offer?” Jack said, looking completely unsure and worried. 

“You mean sneak him out to a hospital and try to keep it quiet? Or to have him bring his mom and we make them sign silence agreements?” Brock asked, moving to the foot of the bed where a huge bag of prescription bottles hung. He began to compare the bottles with a chart hanging at the foot of the bed. “Damn, I’m sure he’s due for something, but reading this stuff is like reading Latin.”

Looking at Steve, eyes hardening again, Jack said, “call your mom. Tell her as little as possible but enough to get her to come.”

“I’ll go pick her up, Jackie. Can’t let this get out any more’n it has.” Brock pulled out a bottle and compared it carefully to the list. He nodded and made a mark on the page then shook out a single dose and brought it over.

Already pulling out his phone, Steve nodded and quickly dialed his mother’s number, bringing it to his ear, his bright blue eyes focusing on James again.

Brock brought over the pills and grabbed the glass of water Steve had left there. “C’mon, Buck, time for your hydrocodone.” He helped the brunet to swallow pills and water, only a little dribbling down his chin.

After a quick conversation with Sarah, Steve hung up and said, “she’ll be ready whenever you can pick her up. She promised not to say anything.”

“Give me the location, and you bet your sweet ass she won’t say anything. You’re both signing silence forms.” Brock turned fully to Steve.

Raising his hands in an innocent manner, Steve nodded, “whatever, man, we just wanna help.”

After receiving the directions he needed, Brock ran from the room, his hand on his revolver so it wouldn’t bounce around. A secret service man was doing Steve’s bidding.

Softly, James moaned again, his hand and arm slowly unlocking from their muscle freeze.


	2. The Favor

Several hours later, Sarah finished signing the form and handed the pen to her son. “I think you should at least get his original doctor back to monitor him, but, he’s doing a little better now he’s on the relaxant, not just the pain reliever.

Taking the pen from his mother, Steve looked down at the silence agreement and bit his lip. If he signed, he’d have to keep everything he’d seen to himself . . . he wouldn’t even be able to tell Sam. This story could make both of their careers, finding out that two of the most prominent politicians in the entire country kept their son locked in a storage room, recovering from an extremely painful injury, alone and without the medical help he needed. Steve could practically see Fury’s eye widening as he handed in the story . . . this could change the blond’s life forever . . . never again would he be stuck filing and sorting through fanmail. 

James turned his head to look over Steve and Sarah, seeming lucid for the first time since Steve had stumbled upon him. The brunet offered a sweet smile. “Hey, thanks. I really appreciate your help.” And there was the _‘golden boy’_ the press loved so well. “You can call me Bucky,” he held out his trembling right hand.

Sarah immediately took the shaky hand and shook it gently, a kind smile on her face, “well, it’s very nice to meet you, Bucky.”

Steve sighed softly and signed the agreement, Bucky didn’t deserve to be exploited even if his parents were proving to be even more horrible than their other children. Handing the pen and signed document back to Brock, Steve offered Bucky a small smile.

“Thanks, kid,” the older man finally offered a smile to the stranger who’d helped so much. Brock seemed quite pleased with his work so far.

“What do I call you?” Bucky asked.

“I’m Steve,” he answered with a grin. 

Smiling sweetly, plush lips pulling back from his white teeth, Bucky nodded slightly. “Steve . . . suits you. I like that.” He tapped the bed and his dog immediately came over. “Have you met Winter? He’s the best dog ever. Winter, meet our new friend Steve and his mother the nurse.”

“Call me Sarah, dear,” she called out from where she crouched putting away some of her supplies in her bag.

“Sarah,” Bucky said, his mouth shaping the name as if a prayer. “Thank you, Sarah . . . Steve.”

Steve looked down at Bucky and he felt something tug at his heart, he still felt a need to protect him . . . he didn’t want the brunet to suffer like he had been earlier. 

The dog nuzzled at Steve’s hand finally and let out a soft huffing woof.

Chuckling softly, Steve scratched behind the dog’s ear and said, “yeah, he’s the one that actually lead me to you.” 

The man in the bed laughed softly, drawing in his breath at the end. “Thanks for coming. For listening to Winter. I know my guys weren’t far away, but when I get hurting . . .” Bucky sighed. “Am I going to get you in trouble for your help, Steve?”

Shaking his head, Steve offered the kind man a gentle smile, “nah, I’m just glad I heard you and Winter showed me where you were.”

Eyes closing after the last hours of stress and pain, and the heavy meds he was on, James nodded slightly, his smile still lingering around his lips. “Come back ‘morrow?” he asked softly.

Steve looked over to Brock, eyes unsure. 

Sighing, the man nodded. “I’ll get your clearance. Show up in some kind of work dungarees or coveralls or something. Come in through the same door, carry a tool chest. I’ll make sure your work badge is delivered to your mom’s tonight.” Obviously, the men gave their charge what he desired, even if they were so hush hush as to need to strap him down to leave the room since there were only two of them.

Steve flushed, he didn’t want to correct Brock and say that his mom’s place was also his own . . . a copy-boy job didn’t pay well enough to be able to afford his own place and pay off his expensive college loans. He simply nodded and flashed another smile, “okay.” 

Glancing over at Jack, Brock said, “I’ll get them home and give them the rundown. You strap him up so he doesn’t roll and hurt that arm worse. Take the dog out while I’m gone.”

Jack nodded and moved towards the bed, he began to carefully strap the younger man into the bed; one could see that the man did not enjoy doing it. 

Sarah never protested the restraints. She merely picked up her bag and turned to her son. “Ready, Stevie, whenever you are.

Giving Bucky one last look, Steve nodded and followed Brock and his mother out of the makeshift hospital room.

Brock checked the hall then the gardens before escorting the pair into the night-darkened yard. He got them to a small, nondescript Subaru and held open the back door. “Don’t say a word. Just follow my lead,” he practically whispered.

Once the trio had made it, unmolested and apparently unseen, to Sarah’s home, Brock followed them inside, looking anxious to be gone before he stepped in the door. “Your badge will arrive by special courier later tonight, before midnight. Now, let’s talk politics, shall we? Both of you, please, sit.” Brock gestured to the dining room chairs as if it were his house rather than theirs.

Neither argued nor protested, they both slid into the hard wooden chairs and looked up at Brock expectantly.

“You didn’t see or hear anything. You already signed. What you sign can get you thrown in jail and a whole lot worse if you break it, got it? That kid is going through a lot of pain, and he doesn’t need to be plastered over some two-bit webpage or aspiring political magazine.” Brock looked directly at Steve. “You work for _Project Insight_. Don’t think we didn’t recognize any press member in the place today.” Running a hand through his hair, obviously worried, Brock said, “but if James wants you back, well, he’s got little enough to do strapped in that bed all day and denied even family visits. So, I’ll accommodate him . . . until you set a foot wrong.”

“I don’t want to hurt him or whatever . . . I signed that agreement and I have no intention of breaking it,” Steve said honestly. 

“You’re with that reporter, Wilson, who works the fluff pieces, right?” Brock asked, arms still crossed, voice low.

“Yes, sir,” Steve nodded, “but I won’t tell him anything!”

“Yeah, unless you’re a liar, you already said that. I was gonna offer you a fluff story to make it sweeter for you, since you helped my boy out by bringing your mother in.” Brock straightened, letting his hands drop finally to his sides in a relaxed pose.

Quirking a brow, suddenly quite interested, Steve asked, “and what would that be?” 

“The same fluff piece that James would give to anyone who thought to ask, actually, but no one ever does. It’s the fluff piece of the century, all warm and fuzzy, and might just get you a desk instead of a sidecar.” Brock smiled at last, the first time that day, and it made him look rather pleasant. “I can tell you, in confidence just to make it more tantalizing to the readers, why James started his charity in the first place.”

Steve leaned over to sift through his satchel, grabbing his leather-bound journal and flipping it open, pulling out a pen, the blond journalist looked back up at the burly man. 

“Eh, no tape recorder or micro machine, huh? Strictly old school? Gotta respect a guy with appreciation for the tried and true. Okay, like I said, in confidence, don’t mention my name.” Brock settled into a comfortable stance but didn’t move to sit. “Before Bucky joined college, he tried to join the military. But he was denied due to an underlying health reason. That bugged him and stayed with him. As he went through college and the political whirl, he came up with a way to, I don’t know, soothe that pain? He thought up this charity. And, yeah, there are all kinds of service dog charities and ones for military wounded, but Bucky got big time sponsors to sign on, and his events always fill up, no matter the price, ‘cause people know it’s a good cause and the man won’t abuse the funds. 94% of all funding goes to the dogs and wounded they’re matched up to. That leaves only 6% for advertising, administration, and other stuff. Do you get the idea? Costs come directly from Bucky himself, donating to his own charity so the public funds go straight where they are needed.” The dark-haired SS guy stood tall and proud, smiling. “Now tell me that ain’t the fluff piece of the century? No one, I mean no one, has ever asked Bucky why and how. They just assume it was something his mother gave him to put his name on. But it was his, from conception to realization . . . and he started that thing at age twenty-three.”

Finishing writing the last of his notes, Steve nodded and gave the other man his bright smile, “that’s amazing! I never realized . . . I guess I just assumed like everyone else. We’ll be able to write a great piece with this.” 

“Yeah, so you can kinda understand why those of us who known Bucky want this one mishap to get overlooked? The kid never stepped wrong before. It was a one time fluke and the less people know about it, the better all around.” Brock nodded.

Steve bit his lip and shut his notebook, “can I ask a question? Off the record, of course.”

“It better be if you’re asking what I think you’re asking,” Brock growled.

To prove his point even more, Steve put away his notebook in his bag and looked back at the guard, “what happened to him? Did he get in some type of accident?”

The guard studied Steve carefully for a long time. “Tell you what. While you’re visiting with Bucky, you ask _him_. If he tells you, off the record, fine. If not, you won’t hear it from me. As far as the Senator’s going to be telling people in a few weeks is James Barnes was on an off-the-grid holiday with his dog and fell down a mountain when some stuff crumbled under his foot. Dog got help, a genuine real hero and fine example of the dogs trained by _Paws_.”

Seeming to accept that compromise, smiling slightly about how the story of an off-the-grid retreat fit so well with what Sam had originally expected to be the truth. “Alright,” the blond got up from his chair and offered his hand to Brock, “thanks.” 

“Yeah, well, sorry you had to find him like that. We were fighting the stupid kitchen staff who insisted that getting him a late morning meal was not scheduled by his mother, even though he’d slept through breakfast.” Brock sighed. “And Jackie got called in for his usual report on our . . . project.” After a moment, Brock took Steve’s hand and shook it. “Look, kid, you seem nice and all, okay? So, let me give you advice. The journalistic world is pretty screwed up. No matter how much good they wanna do when they start? They end up tearing apart the best people for rare mistakes. That’s not news, that’s disgusting. It maybe doesn’t pay so well, but stick with the fluff pieces, the warm fuzzies. You’ll sleep better at night.” Brock let Steve’s hand go.

“I’ve never wanted to tear anyone down,” Steve admitted, “it was always the one part of the job that I felt disgusted about.” 

“Yeah, we all got the dirt to clean in our jobs, don’t we?” Brock sighed. “I gotta get back to my boy. If someone’s with him, we can let him out of restraints.” He smiled grimly. “Tomorrow, Steve. Don’t forget. Dress as a handyman and bring a tool box.”

“You got it,” Steve nodded, “Is it alright if I bring some stuff, though?”

“Depends on the stuff,” Brock frowned.

“I don’t know . . . card games . . . books? Something to help keep his mind off the injury?” Steve offered a nervous smile, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah? Don’t know how well that’ll work. They barely saved the arm to begin with. But sure, kid, bring some time passers. Might keep him occupied.” Brock turned towards Sarah and shook her hand, smiling once more. “Thank you so much, ma’am, for helping my boy out. I’ll see what I can do about getting a doctor in to check for those bone fragments.”

“Oh, you call me Sarah, too, ma’am is far too formal.” She shook Brock’s hand, “and I would hope so. If there are bone fragments . . . the pain won’t ever get better for that poor boy.”

“Yeah, and Jack says there’s a chance for infection and blood vessel tears. He was in the Army and learned a few things in Iraq.” The burly guard sighed.

“Call me if you ever need someone . . . I don’t mind to help, I actually am honored. Bucky seemed like a very kind young man,” Sarah said with a soft smile. 

Eyeing the woman, the guard growled in a frustrated voice, “what we need is someone willing to go in that arm and make sure it’s cleaned out, and to keep his mouth shut afterwards.”

“I actually may have a solution for that,” Sarah said; she walked over to the small kitchen and opened a drawer where they kept miscellaneous stuff, pulling out a business card she handed it to Brock, “Dr. Strange is DC’s best surgeon, I used to work for him . . . tell him I referred you. He owes me a favor or two. I’m sure he’ll use complete discretion.”

“Yeah?” Brock nodded studying the car. Sighing, he slipped it in his pocket. “Gotta check with Jack. Technically, we’re supposed to clear all visitors with his mother.”

“Well, the sooner you get that arm taken care of . . . the sooner that boy can fully recover,” Sarah gave Brock a firm nod, “please, call him. That boy doesn’t deserve to be in that much pain.”

“Yeah, I’ll ask Jack. He’s senior on our watch. We’ve been with that kid since he got to high school.” Brock sighed. “Don’t like to see him like this. And his family’s got their heads up their private asses too far to see he needs help.” Shaking his head, the guard let himself out of the small house and into the night.

True to Brock’s word, not two hours later, a laminated work release badge for “Roger Stephens, contractor” showed up by special courier.

“Ma?” Steve asked, studying the badge, fingers rubbing the smooth surface.

“Yes, Stevie?” She folded another towel and set it in her stack on the dining room table.

“Do you still have Dad’s coveralls and work tools?” Steve called out, eyes not leaving the badge.

“In the garage I would think. The coveralls would be in a bin marked “clothes” on one of the shelves. The tools would be in the tool chest in the back corner. If I don’t miss my guess, they’re still in their oiled cloths, too. Your father took very good care of his tools.” Sarah smiled at her only child.

Nodding, Steve walked out into the attached garage, calling out a hurried, “thanks” to his mother.


	3. The Treatment

Dressed completely in his father’s old coveralls, his badge clipped firmly to the navy material, and holding a rusty red tool box, Steve made his way to the side door he’d gone through the day before. 

He could hear the sounds of construction work being done in the back wing, and Brock stood outside of Bucky’s secret door, arms at parade rest. At seeing Steve, he barked, “identification.”

“Roger Stephens,” Steve immediately replied. 

“Good, need a guy in this room fixing things up. Didn’t want to take one of the guys already working elsewhere. You know the drill.” The SS opened the door enough for Steve to slip into the unchanged storeroom-sickroom for the hidden Barnes heir. “I’ll make sure you get some lunch or something, too, so don’t stop working. There’s an attached john in the back.”

Giving the secret service man a nod of thanks, Steve slipped into the room and offered Bucky a kind smile. 

The brunet opened his eyes at the sound of footsteps and rolled his head to study his very rare visitor. With a smile, sweet and welcoming, he said, “Stevie, right? Thanks for coming back.” His right hand reached over to stroke the silky white fur on Winter’s head.

Flushing at the nickname, usually his mom only got to call him that, but somehow the name sounded right leaving Bucky’s lips. “Well, I did promise, didn’t I?” He stepped further into the room and sat down in one of the chairs next to the bed. 

The patient still had blood-shot watery eyes, his pale skin flushed with a look akin to fever, and his hair pressed flat on one side and sticking up on the other in sleepy disarray. However, he had been washed and put in clean underclothes, the bed linens changed completely. “You look like you’re here to work,” Bucky chuckled softly. “So, you one of our noisemakers or you incognito just for me?” Today James Barnes seemed more coherent, or at least less distressed, more relaxed.

Looking down at his coveralls, Steve chuckled and shook his head, “I can barely hammer a nail without busting open my thumb. Feel kinda like a secret spy or something.” 

Laughing lightly, Bucky nodded. “Unfortunately, if you hang out with the politicos, you either play spy or stooge. I prefer spy. It’s sexier.” He looked curiously at Steve’s toolbox. “Weren’t you a reporter yesterday?”

“Uh . . . that wasn’t exactly a costume, but yes, I was a reporter,” Steve answered, eyes flickering to his dad’s beloved toolbox.

“Didn’t think it was,” Bucky smiled wider, eyes dancing despite his sleepless, fevered appearance. “You don’t grow up surrounded by the press without recognizing them, even if they aren’t pressing for sound bites. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“For what?” Steve’s eyes returned to meet Bucky’s grey ones.

Bucky continued to smile. “For not reporting on my fall from grace. That could have been a real stepping stone. I’d offer money in recompense, but I find that sort of thing insulting, so I hope my genuine thanks is good enough?”

Steve shrugged softly, waving a hand dismissively, “eh, wasn’t _that_ big of a story anyways.”

“Really?” Bucky snorted, “the only reason I’m in some back room in the bowels of my dad’s mansion instead of in some hospital room getting the treatment I need is I have just become the family’s biggest dirty little secret, and that’s not a story?” Bucky shook his head.

Blue eyes softening, Steve sighed, “I wish I could help more . . . your parents are honestly the biggest idiots in all the nation. Your health should come before any _story_.”

Twisting in his bed, wincing as his arm moved against it’s will, Bucky stared at Steve intently through storm-colored eyes. “You don’t know why I’m back here, do you? They didn’t tell you.” He sounded surprised.

“No one knows, Bucky. The whole nation thinks you either knocked up some model or are on some bender.” Steve sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Knocked up some model?” Bucky’s eyes widened. “On a bender? I thought Mama was going to spread the word that I was hurt falling off a mountain in Indonesia.” He frowned. “It’s what she told me she would do when I first woke up in the hospital. I’m sure I didn’t forget that.” The brunet seemed troubled, the fingers of his right hand digging gently into his pet’s fur.

Shrugging, Steve looked down, “I guess your dad is releasing a statement in a few weeks. But as of right now . . . no one know’s where you’ve been.”

“A few weeks? Oh, I see,” Bucky sighed. “The sympathy angle. Makes perfect sense. His son goes on holiday and isn’t heard back from for four or five months, but they thought everything was fine because their son told them he’d be unreachable. Suddenly he comes home, half battered to death and talking about falling from a mountain and being helped by some shaman stuck in a backwater village. The press’ll eat that up and not even a hint of tarnish will touch the _golden boy_.” The last words were said with bitter derision.

Flinching at the tone, Steve looked at the brunet and said softly, “I am sorry, for whatever happened, this really sucks. And I’m sorry that you aren’t even able to get the help you need for whatever stupid political reason.”

“Oh, that’s part of the plan, don’t you know?” Bucky said bitterly, eyes downcast and watching his dog, the only person who could claim to honestly love him. “See, if I was in some medically deprived backwater, I surely couldn’t get the best of care, could I? Thus, no need to bother trying to hide medical contacts, doctor visits, and such, because there’s no need to give me those. I was stuck on a mountain.” The brunet shook his head.

Steve furrowed his brow, feeling anger and sympathy for the other man; he couldn’t imagine constantly having to be a pawn in some political game.

“And to top if off, I’ll be the darling of the charity circuit once again, proving that even after all these years Winter can still do what he was trained to do from the start and be my service dog.” Bucky closed his eyes, letting his head fall back into the pillow.

Leaning over the side of the chair, Steve rummaged through the toolbox and pulled out a worn box of cards. Removing the deck from the box, he began to shuffle it, “ever play Rummy?”

The noise brought Bucky’s eyes open and he glanced over, watching intently as the cards moved through Steve’s fingers. “Whatcha doin’, Stevie?” he asked softly.

“Ever play Rummy?” Steve asked again, still shuffling.

“Nope. Played a bit of poker in college, but never for money or such. Rummy? Never played that one.” Bucky tried to adjust himself to sit up in his bed, groaning softly as he jostled his very painful arm.

Humming softly, Steve’s eyes flickered over to Bucky, “you alright? Need help?”

“Yeah, actually,” Bucky smiled. “I’m sick of lying in this bed and only getting up to be helped to the bathroom. Mind getting me to that chair opposite you? Then you can teach me this game properly?”

Setting the shuffled deck on the table, Steve flashed the brunet his wide smile and proceeded to very carefully help the injured man out of the bed, being ever mindful of the bandaged arm.

Once he was on his feet, Bucky had to rest, leaning heavily on the stronger man. He smelled of clover and mint and something undeniably unique but unplaceable. Turning his head, their faces merely centimeters apart, Bucky blinked his grey-blue eyes slowly and drew a slow breath. Softly, he said, “you’re beautiful, Stevie . . .”

Steve flushed beet red; he cleared his throat and muttered, “so are you, Buck.” The nickname slipped out before the blond could stop himself.

Letting his eyes close, Bucky leaned forward that extra little bit, his lips brushing over Steve’s in a gentle question.

Eyes widening, Steve’s hand tightened slightly on Bucky’s right arm, letting out a soft whimper. The blond returned the gentle kiss. “Ya know? I’ve dreamed of kissing you since I was in high school?”

Bucky chuckled into Steve’s mouth then broke the kiss. “Sorry if I can’t say the same thing, doll, but I’m more than happy to fulfill that fantasy now.” The brunet leaned in for another kiss. Eventually, he pulled back a bit.

Setting the brunet down in the chair, Steve laughed, “Eh . . . ya wouldn’t have liked me in high school . . . I was all skin and bones and picked a fight with anyone who’d waste their time.”

“Sounds like you were a little punk, Stevie,” Bucky chuckled, getting comfortable in the chair, feeling the drag of gravity in a whole new way on the mangled arm. Despite being in just his drawers and undershirt, the twenty-six year old Senator’s son seemed perfectly at ease.

Laughing, head falling back, Steve said, “I really was. My poor mother had to clean the blood off my knuckles and face almost everyday. I think she’s surprised I made it this long.” The blond sat down across from Bucky and smiled at the brunet. 

Laughing outright, the rich sound filling the room, Bucky said “just a bundle of spunk looking for a cause, huh?” He shook his head. “When I was in high school, I was too busy getting honor roll and doing after-school activities Mama chose for me, trying to stay off the radar and out of trouble. It was easy once I figured out to lose myself in my work.”

“Sounds hard,” Steve responded, picking up the deck and dealing out the cards, “sometimes people gotta make mistakes to learn.”

Nodding, the brunet said, “well, my siblings are anywhere from five to ten years younger than me, so I was always the example, the built-in nanny, and whatever else my parents wanted. I guess I grew up in it and didn’t look at it as hard, just life. And mistakes were not an option in the Barnes family.”

“Don’t think your other siblings got that memo, Buck,” Steve laughed slightly as he finished dealing ten cards each and set the remaining deck face down in between them.

“Well, they get a free pass for being young and wild,” he sighed, picking up his cards in one hand, awkwardly trying to fan them a bit. “This is going to be difficult,” he murmured then raised his voice, “Jackie? Brock? Got a minute?”

Jack stepped into the room, eyebrows raising at the sight of the two younger men sitting at the table, “why are you out of bed, Bucky?”

The brunet didn’t seem to feel like he did anything wrong. “Because Steve wanted to teach me a game called Rummy and I thought the table would be easier to work with?” His answer was honest, not hiding anything, no hidden agenda or meaning. “I was wondering, if sometime today you guys find time, can one of you go get that poker set my friend from university sent for Christmas a couple years back? The one that’s sitting, unopened, in my bedroom? I think it’s got a pair of card holders for beginners who can’t fan their cards right.”

Making a small grunt of disapproval, Jack nodded and said, “I’ll get it now,” he looked at Steve, “watch him . . . Brock’s taking a break right now.”

“Uh oh,” Bucky sounded distressed, “Jack? Rummy’s not a decadent game, is it? I’d always heard it was a family game. Don’t want to push you into helping me break the Mama laws.”

“Kid,” Jack snorted, shaking his head, “I’d break every one of those damn rules if I could. I’ll be right back.” With that, the guard turned on his heel and left the room in order to grab the poker set Bucky had asked for.

“Damn, I love my handlers,” Bucky smiled. “They look out for me and don’t let me stray, but they’re so loyal. I don’t know what I did to deserve those guys. Becca’s always complaining hers tattle to Mama.”

“Well, you don’t do much to tattle on. . . and you’re a nice person, Bucky. They treat you with the kindness you deserve,” Steve offered the brunet a smile, eyes shining with happiness.

Laughing softly, Bucky reached over the table with his right hand and grabbed Steve’s lapel. “C'mere, before he gets back. I wanna taste you again, Stevie.” He tugged again.

Making a small noise of surprise, Steve let himself be tugged across the table, the deck of cards shifting and falling over. The blond crashed his lips against Bucky’s, his head spinning. _Was this really happening? Was he really kissing James Barnes?_

Bucky moaned into Steve’s mouth. “God, you taste better than whiskey,” he breathed, tracing the tip of his tongue over Steve’s full lips. “Go straight to my head, doll.”

Steve opened his mouth slightly to let Bucky’s tongue explore, groaning softly as he had to brace himself against the table to keep from falling over. 

Reluctantly, Bucky pulled away from the kiss, breathless and eyes darkening. “Damn, I wish I’d found you in high school. I’d have broken every rule Mama set just to kiss you.” He smiled at the blond.

The door opened unexpectedly and Brock walked in with a tray of food. He shook his head at the sight of Bucky sitting at the table and Steve pulled across it, Bucky’s hand still wrapped in Steve’s coveralls. “Enough, boys, you’ll make a scene,” he growled menacingly. “And your Mama will not appreciate you manhandling the contractors, Bucky. I don’t think I can cover for that one.”

Steve blushed and sank back into his chair, panting slightly.

Looking over, Bucky flushed brighter and nodded, reluctantly letting Steve pull away. “Sorry, Brock.” He looked at his visitor. “Sorry, Steve. I wasn’t thinking properly.”

“Don’t gotta apologize to me,” Steve muttered, looking at Bucky with lust-filled eyes, but he quickly ducked his head.

Brock swept the cards into a pile, one handed, and handed them off to Steve. He placed the tray, balanced in his other arm, onto the table and nodded. “Lunch. Eat it warm ‘cause the kitchen don’t like _‘breaking their schedule’_.” The guard stepped away, looked over Steve then Bucky, and shook his head, sighing. As he made his way out the door, he grumbled, “fucking first time he makes a play and it’s gotta be a damned male reporter. The death of me. His mother’s gonna kill me.”

Bucky flushed.

“That - - that . . .” Steve looked at Bucky with wide eyes, “please tell me that wasn’t your first kiss!”

Flushing brighter, Bucky cleared his throat. “Well, technically my first kiss was when you helped me from the bed?”

Steve abruptly stood from his chair, a small scraping noise filling the large room; he moved over to Bucky’s side. “A first kiss needs to be special,” the blond crouched down and cupped the sides of Bucky’s face, caressing the stubbled skin, Steve pressed his lips against the brunet’s again.

With a whimper of need, Bucky kissed back, holding his breath, eyes closing.

After a few long moments, Steve pulled back slightly, still running his thumbs across Bucky’s cheeks, his bright blue eyes intently searching the brunet.

Eyes drifting open slowly as he drew in some much needed air, Bucky smiled, “you make me dizzy, Stevie.”

Smiling, Steve pressed his lips against Bucky’s again quickly, before standing up, “yeah? Well, you’re addicting, Buck. Can’t get enough of you.”

The door opened again and Jack stepped in holding Bucky’s poker set.

“I’m warning ya, Jackie,” Brock was saying, “you may not wanna go in there.”

“I, for one, am glad Buck’s finally making a damn move,” Jack smiled and then turned to look at the two other men in the room. “Don’t worry, Kid,” he secret service guard winked, “I won’t tell a soul. Make-out to your heart’s content.”

“And if his mother finds out?” Brock worried from the doorway, keeping an eye out for anyone passing by.

“She _won’t_. Not like the woman actually visits her son, anyways. And I am sure as hell not tellin’ her . . . you?” Jack set the poker set by the table and turned back to face Brock.

“Hell no! I think it’s sweet the kid found someone to experiment with,” Brock said honestly. “And his mother would probably be relieved, if it wasn’t a man, Jackie. You know they’re strict conservatives. If his folks find out, he’ll be sent to the male equivalent of a convent!”

Steve frowned at the conversation; he looked over at Bucky and said, “they don’t know you’re . . .” he gestured between the both of them.

Sighing, Bucky leaned back in his chair, eyes facing the ceiling. “Never said a word, Steve. Mama would get me engaged to a high powered control freak woman so quick, I’d pass out, and my dad would just flay me alive and hang my skin on the door as a warning to my sister and brothers.”

“Why don’t you leave, Bucky?” Steve asked softly, eyes staring intently at the man, “Go someplace you’re actually accepted for being who you are?”

Sighing, Bucky lifted his head, eyes miserable. “Where? With what money? If I break the rules, I lose my allowance and will be expected to pay back my own university bills . . . to MIT . . . for an eight year degree.” Shaking his head, Bucky looked towards his prison doorway. “I don’t know how to live any other life. And who would hire me once the scandal broke?”

“You have a doctorate in linguistics, Bucky . . . and aren’t you friends with Tony Stark? I bet he’d hire you on the spot. You don’t need to live like this . . . I - -” Steve snapped his mouth shut, not wanting to push, but every fiber in him wanted to punch his way through this obstacle.

“Tony?” Bucky looked at Steve incredulously. “Tony’s in the opposite party, Steve. You’re telling me to not only out myself for the world but to turn my back on my family and everything they’ve worked for?”

Steve’s eyes fell and he hung his head, “I - - I . . . it was just an idea? Forget I said anything, it’s not my place.”

Suddenly, Bucky began to laugh, his bitterness and surprise melting away with the rich sound. “Well, now I know we’d make a great couple. We fight like one.” He offed his smile to Steve. “Let’s agree that politics should be off the table, yeah? Too many friendships break up over the political table.”

Biting back his retort, Steve looked back up at Bucky and nodded, though his eyes still held his righteous fury. “Yeah, alright.”

Reaching over, Bucky placed his hand over Steve’s and lowered his voice to a soft caress. “Look, Steve, I know you want to help, and I really appreciate that. I’ve actually thought about this and haven’t found a way yet. As long as my family loves me and needs me, I’ll put up with the bullshit. For them.”

Steve sighed; he wanted to shake Bucky and tell him how no family that loves their son would ever do something like this. He didn’t care if they needed Bucky . . . they sure as hell didn’t love him. Biting the inside of his cheek, the blond reporter simply nodded.

“Look, I’m not asking you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. Hell, I’d love to be a couple with you and keep exploring where those kisses promise to take us, but I’d never ask anyone to sneak around or hide themselves, not for me, not for anything. I’ll take what you give, but won’t expect you to compromise your obviously mighty fine principals. I like it. It’s refreshing to meet a guy who not only knows what’s right from wrong, but wants to follow through on it.” The brunet let go of Steve’s hand.

Reaching over to grab Bucky’s right hand, Steve brought it to his lips and kissed it gently, “I wanna see where this goes? I mean . . . I do feel kinda cool acting like some super secret spy.”

Groaning softly, Bucky shook his head, “yeah, but, like I said, I’d never ask you to compromise. You’d have to be my dirty secret, and you’re better than that, doll.” He moved his fingers to stroke Steve’s cheek. “But boy would I love to have you to myself.”

“I don’t know about _dirty_ . . . I did take a shower just this morning, Buck. I don’t think I smell _that_ bad,” Steve teased with a mischievous smirk.

Throwing his head back with a shout of laughter, Bucky shook his head and twined fingers with Steve’s. “I do love your humor, Stevie!” He leaned over, “and off the record? I think you smell like heaven and sin rolled into one.” Bucky kissed the blond once more.


	4. The Rescue

Loud music blared throughout the small bar; Steve nursed his beer, still half full. He sighed and took another drink. “I told you, Sam. I met one of the groundskeepers . . . that’s who gave me that story.”

Shaking his head, Sam traced the condensation on his mug before looking up at Steve. “That’s a pretty personal story for a groundskeeper to have. Why didn’t he spread it earlier? It’s an amazing story about the _‘golden boy.’_ Any paper would have paid to get that piece.

Shrugging, Steve looked over at his friend, “I don’t know why he didn’t share it earlier.”

“How accurate is it? We can't take rumors and speculation to Fury, Steve. We need solid facts. Can we prove this story? Why was he refused for the military? Where did he get the start up funds? Hard facts, Steve.” Sam frowned, looking troubled.

“We can look up the charity’s bank records . . . aren’t those all public?” Steve offered, picking up his glass again.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed reluctantly, “as a non-profit, those would be on general record.”

“Well, there ya go. We’ll look into the bank records and maybe we’ll be able to figure out where the start-up money came from. As for the reasons why Bu- - James wasn’t accepted into the military,” Steve shrugged and flushed at the near slip, “we won’t be able to get those records.”

“Bu? Who is _‘Bu,’_ and why are you protecting him by deflecting me?” Sam leaned forward, eyes narrowing.

Steve avoided looking at the other man as he took another long drink, finishing off the beer. “I’m not deflecting you . . . I - - I . . .” Steve cringed, he’d never been a good liar.

“Give it up, Rogers, you found an in, didn’t you? Why are you hiding it? You’re not actually planning on going behind my back and grabbing the headline, are you? That’d be low, when I’ve shared my accolades with you since you started.” Sam frowned, eyes studying his intern.

Blue eyes widening, Steve shook his head, “God, no! I ain’t planning on taking anything from you. And can’t tell you . . because I _legally_ can’t say a word to anyone!” The blond huffed and sagged his shoulders.

Shaking his head, leaning in close, scooting his chair in, Sam asked carefully, “if you are legally silent, how come you have this story?”

Quirking a brow, Steve turned his head to look at Sam, “you know exactly why I have this story. Ain’t that hard to figure out, Sam.”

“You found something even bigger!” Sam’s eyes widened. “You actually found something they want to hush up, so they handed you this fuzzy piece they’ve been sitting on for almost four years!”

Looking away, Steve played with his empty glass, spinning it on the wooden bar. He didn’t say anything, biting the inside of his cheek. He wanted to get Bucky help . . . Steve knew the brunet would never reach out for help on his own. The last few days, the blond reporter had actually considered breaking the agreement simply to force the Barnes’ to get Bucky the help he needed. However, Steve didn’t want to break Bucky’s trust.

Sam slapped his mug down on the bar and rose to his feet. “You’re coming with me, Rogers. Now,” he spoke forcefully, his eyes glinting.

Sighing, Steve pulled out his wallet and began to pull out money to pay for both the drinks.

“No,” Sam shook his head, “it’s on my tab. You get the next time.” The reporter led his intern back to his car and sank down behind the wheel, starting the car and leaving the windows closed despite the summer heat.

“I _can’t_ tell you anything, Sam. Trust me . . . if I could, I would,” Steve sighed.

“Shut your door, shut up and listen,” Sam growled out.

Steve shut the door and then looked over at Sam, slightly taken aback by the odd behavior.

Taking a deep, slow breath, Sam said, “don’t talk, just listen, kid. By your very behavior, I can tell you got something that could be politically damning for that family. And I’m guessing since you’re so adamant about denying it, that you found the story Fury was looking for. You found James Barnes, or what’s left of him, but the family has you by the balls somehow.” The dark-haired man shook his head and ran a hand through his curls. “If that guy is dead or in danger, you are legally obligated to break any confidentiality agreement you may have made, fluff piece or no.” Sam looked at Steve. “Is someone in danger, Steve?”

“Really?” Steve asked quickly, eyes wide and hopeful. Maybe there was a way to help Bucky after all.

“Really. Now you can try to be as careful and discreet as possible, and I’ll even help you out, but if someone is in physical or emotional danger, you are morally obligated to intervene . . . not as a reporter, but as a human being. I don’t care how hushed that family wants to keep something, if you can save the guy’s life? Do it.” Sam met and held Steve’s eyes. “Do I make myself clear? As my intern, I hold you to a higher set of laws than stupid political bullshit and news feeds.”

“But _how_?” Steve question, “he doesn’t want to get out . . . what can I do?”

“Okay, start by answering my questions. Is he currently in danger?” Sam asked quietly.

“Yes,” Steve answered immediately, thinking of the suspected bone chips still embedded in Bucky’s arm, the high risk of internal bleeding and infection.

“Are you able to do something to help save his life?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know,” Steve looked at his superior, eyes unsure and worried.

“Calling 911 won’t help?” Sam prompted.

“I mean . . . yes? He needs medical help,” Steve answered quietly.

“Okay, so we can do something for him, we just gotta be careful not to give away your source or our hand, is that it? You’re protecting your source, too?” Sam nodded, as if he determined the answer already.

“ _He_ is my source,” Steve hissed, eyes flickering out the window, searching the nearly empty parking lot.

“Damn, you actually got in to see him? When this is over, you hafta tell me how you managed that one.” Sam began to drive the car into the night.

“He’ll hate me . . .” Steve muttered, wringing his hands nervously in his lap.

“He’ll hate you for saving his life or for leaking his story, Steve?” Sam asked, watching the road as he wove through DC traffic.

“I don’t wanna leak the story unless I have to,” Steve mumbled.

Shaking his head, Sam said firmly, “that’s not what I said. I said, will he hate you for saving his life or will he hate you for leaking the story? It’s a two choice answer, one or the other.”

Steve sighed and groaned, throwing his head in his hands, “it’s so _fucked up_ , Sam.”

Sighing, Sam took a turn into the hospital parking lot. “So, your _source_ will hate you for saving his life? He’s suicidal?”

“No!” Steve’s head snapped up, eyes wide, thinking of Bucky’s infectious laugh and kind, sweet smile. His will to help and support his family even after everything they’d put him through.

“Well, that was easy. So the answer is he’ll hate you if the story is leaked.” Sam nodded, pulling to a stop and turning the car off. He made no move to get out of the vehicle yet. “Next multiple choice. Was he injured by his own hand or someone else’s?”

Furrowing his brows, Steve shook his head, “I - - I’m not sure . . . I think it was an accident or something.”

“So, he didn’t tell you how he was hurt, but he’s hurt bad enough that his life is in danger? For three months?” Sam swore softly, hands hitting his wheel. “A fucking drug addict?”

Steve actually laughed at that; the mere idea that Bucky could be addicted to drugs was almost comical. The man hadn’t even kissed anyone until he met Steve; the guy was as straight-edged as they come.

“How the hell did they keep that one under wraps all this time?” Sam shook his head.

“He isn’t on drugs, Sam,” Steve breathed out, the blond took a shaky breath and said, figuring he’d broken the agreement already, “something bad happened to his arm. They’re keeping him strapped to a fucking bed in a storage room - - high on pain meds and they’re worried about bone fragments.”

“Why the hell would his family do that to him if they have nothing to hide? The right thing to do, the newsworthy, public pleasing thing, would be to get him to a damn operating room and save his life before blood poisoning sets in and kills him!”

“I know, Sam! I don’t understand any of this! But . . . I’m willing to have him hate me for the rest of my life if it means saving his life,” Steve said, eyes hardening with determination.

“At least if you tell, he’ll have a shot of having a rest of his life. How’d you find this shit out, Steve? I want your source that led you to him.” Sam frowned, a growl in his voice.

“I heard him moaning in pain from the gardens . . . and then when I went to make sure he was okay . . . I saw Winter, the dog led me into the room. They didn’t even have a fucking window open.” Steve shook his head, fist clenching in anger at the memory.

“The dog?” Sm looked absolutely shocked then laughed, “my God, the fucking dog is your source? Boy, Fury would shit himself if he ever found out. He told us to find the dog, and it led you to the man himself!” Sam shook his head and got out of the car. “C’mon. I’m about to show you how to save a life anonymously.

Steve followed Sam out of the car and into the hospital.

“Now, before we get inside, can you tell me what other injuries you saw? Only a broken arm?” Sam spoke quickly, softly as he walked at a casual pace.

“I couldn’t see anything else, but the arm spasms and twitches . . . I think it was more than broken,” the blond reported.

“Did it look mangled or was it just the nerve problems that alerted you? I need to know what kind of tale to spin for the ER,” Sam asked carefully.

“It’s wrapped up in bandages, so I assume that it’s mangled,” Steve shook his head.

Sam nodded. “Okay, help me out, Steve. What kind of thing could he have been doing, short of getting attacked by . . . oh, fuck! You don’t think they’re covering it up because one of the training dogs actually attacked him? The press would go haywire ripping apart the charity!” Sam turned wide eyes on Steve.

Shaking his head, Steve said quickly, “I don’t think it was a dog attack . . . maybe an accident? Car crash or something?”

“Car crashes are reported to the hospital,” Sam said, “and the police file a report.” He looked thoughtful, “unless they managed to cover up an ER report and police report three months ago, this guy was probably hurt at home and kept under lock and key. But why? What could he have been doing that would shame the family if it got out?”

“I have no idea,” Steve shook his head, looking thoughtful, concerned and afraid.

Nodding, Sam picked up his pace and thrust his way into the ER. He called out, “I need medical help, please! I have a friend who’s hurt.” When a nurse and two interns hurried over, Sam explained in a quick, quiet voice, “he’s an adult and refusing medical help, but he’s dying man. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t get him help?”

A nurse nodded, “calm down, please. Tell us what you can. If he’s endangering himself, we can have the police go to him, but legally an adult can refuse medical care.”

“His name is Brian Johnson and he works for the Senator,” Sam’s voice had dropped really low, “as a body double for their oldest son, you know in case he’s double booked or something? But he was in an accident a few months back and he’s been trying to take care of it himself.” Sam ran a hand through his hair. “Man, I know James would have gotten him to see help if that guy hadn’t been in Tibet climbing mountains or something.”

“Okay, you need to stay on topic, sir. Where is your friend?” the intern asked as he reached for his phone.

Sam sighed, “hiding out at that mansion, of course. You’d think he’d have at least found a comfortable bed to hang in, but he’s in some storage room on an old bed left over from when the Lincoln administration came through or something.”

By then the medical staff had obviously determined the Sam was too far gone to remain objective and helpful. They sent him to a private room to cool down and turned to Steve instead. “What do you know of this, sir?”

“All I know is that he got in some type of accident,” Steve said, releasing a breath, “hurt his arm real bad.”

“But is he breathing? Bleeding? A head injury?” the intern asked.

The second intern said into his phone, “yes, I’d like to do a welfare check on a Brian Johnson over at the Senator’s mansion? I understand he’s been staying in a back room but could be seriously hurt?”

Steve shook his head, “he’s breathing, not bleeding, and I don’t think he has a head injury.”

The nurse nodded, and touched his arm. “And your name?”

“Roger Stephens,” Steve answered quickly, using his fake name from his badge to get in to see Bucky. 

She nodded and wrote things down. “Now, do you think your friend, Mr. Johnson, might be self-destructive? Is he avoiding medical help so he can die?”

“No,” Steve immediately answered.

She nodded. “The police will be here shortly to talk to you about your report. If they find anything on their well-check you’ll be the first to know. Can you wait in the office with your . . . other friend?” She glanced towards where they sequestered Sam.

Nodding, Steve walked into the office and sat down next to Sam, throwing his head in his hands. 

“So, you okay?” Sam asked gently, quietly.

Not verbally answering his friend, Steve shook his head, he didn’t look up at Sam either. Steve had no idea if Bucky would ever talk to him again after getting him help.

Laying a hand on Steve’s shoulder, Sam said softly. “Even if he hates you, he’ll be alive. Wasn’t that why you made this choice? To give him that chance?”

“Yeah,” Steve answered softly, still not not looking up.

“And you felt he’d hate you for getting anyone else involved, not for saving him, right? So, you think we managed to do enough to keep everyone else out?” Sam whispered softly.

“Don’t know,” Steve said, his whole body thrumming with uncertainty. He had no idea how the rest of the night would play out. He hoped that they’d said little enough not to get the rest of the family, even if they did deserve it, in trouble.

Sam remained sitting with Steve, hand on his shoulder, waiting in silence for the cops to show up, either to question them further about their friend or to accuse them of false reporting.

Soon, the sound of an ambulance and two cop cars reached their ears and the ER was in an uproar as they brought a real emergency in. Voices shouted back and forth over each other, and the very air seemed to vibrate with the energy. Finally, the office door opened and Brock stood there, frowning severely. “Roger Stephens?” he growled out.

“What did you expect me to do, Brock?” Steve didn’t move to stand up, but his head finally lifted to look at the guard.

“Shut up and let me talk, Roger,” Brock snapped immediately.

Steve’s jaw snapped shut.

“Thanks to an anonymous report Senatorial body guard, and hired body double of James Barnes, was found and saved. Medical results and accident report are pending. The Senator and his family have initiated efforts to contact their son, James, in Tibet so he can come be by his personal guard’s side. As of this time, Brian Johnson is in stable condition awaiting surgery.” The guard stared at Steve. “Got that?”

Nodding firmly, Steve didn’t say anything.

“That is your story, nothing else. A mansion contractor named Roger Stephens found him, but the man cannot be reached for further contact, and all future inquiries are to be forwarded to the Senator's personal staff.” Brock finished, still frowning.

Steve nodded again, he wanted to ask if he could see Bucky but he quickly shoved that away, knowing the answer would most likely be a firm no.

“Good.” Brock turned towards the door then paused and looked back. “Oh, one last thing . . . thank the Lord you did that!” He walked out and firmly shut the door.


	5. The Cover-Up

A soft touch on Steve’s shoulder woke him from the doze he’d fallen in, slumped in the uncomfortable chair of the private office. Blinking, Steve sat up, “what? What happened?”

The nurse stood there and smiled softly. “He’s out of surgery . . . your friend Brian? He’s in recovery but I thought you’d like to stop in and say hello? He’ll be groggy but waking up by now.”

“I can see him?” Steve asked, voice still raspy from sleep, as he stood up, his knees popping.

“There’s no reason why not. He didn’t say he didn’t want visitors. The Senator and his wife already looked in on him while he was still out, but they left some time ago.” She smiled. “It was good of them to come check on one of their staff. He works for good people.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Steve nodded once and began to walk out of the room, “can you show me to his room?”

“Of course. Oh, your other friend had to leave. He said not to wake you, but tell you you’re lucky you pay attention to the seasons?” She smiled and shrugged at the obscure remark then led Steve to the second floor orthopedic recovery wing.

Opening the door to Bucky’s room, Steve gave the brunet a soft smile as he stepped inside.

Looking even paler than he had before, Bucky lay in the hospital bed, dressed in a hospital gown over his chest and right arm, the left arm bandaged and held in traction, from shoulder to fingers. His cheeks were shadowed with a darkening beard stubble from not being shaved for several days, and there were dark circles under his eyes. An IV ran into his right arm, and a bag hooked on the side of the bed denoted a catheter which would probably be removed within the hour if he continued to wake up. Slowly, the man opened his grey-blue eyes, blinking to focus. He seemed pretty groggy.

“Hey,” Steve cooed gently as he slid into a chair close to the edge of the bed, “how’re you feeling?”

“My arm is numb . . . is it still there? They keep telling me they didn’t take it, but they talked about it before I went under.” Bucky flopped his head sideways to try to peer weakly down at his arm.

“It’s still there, baby,” Steve said, running his hand carefully through Bucky’s hair.

A soft smile came to Bucky’s face. “I like how you say that, doll,” he whispered.

Smiling again, Steve peered over his shoulder to make sure the nurse had left before leaning over and pressing his lips to the brunet’s forehead, letting them linger against the skin for a few moments. 

A flash went off just as Steve’s lips touched Bucky’s skin.

Whirling around, Steve looked at the doorway, eyes narrowing. 

The red-haired beauty of the family, Becca Barnes, stood there with her camera out, a smirk on her face. “Always suspected,” she lifted her eyes to smile at Steve, mischief dancing in her own eyes. “So, how long have you guys been an item?”

Standing up, Steve strode over to the young woman, towering over her, “that was private.”

Leaning her head back, looking up at Steve, Becca snorted. “Nothing in this family is private. If you plan on playing with us, you need to learn that right away. I’m Becca, the only girl and the target of anyone who doesn’t understand letting loose. And you are?”

Steve crossed his large arms over his chest, upset that his moment with Bucky had been ruined, “Roger Stephens.”

“Right,” she smiled nodding. “Well, glad to meet you Roger. Thanks for finding my family’s servant. I’m sure when he’s more awake he’ll thank you properly.” She took another picture, this one of Steve in righteous anger, and flicked over the image on her screen. “Not bad, Roger,” she nodded.

“You do plan to keep those pictures to yourself, right?” Steve asked, his voice hardening.

“Not a bit of it. I plan to blackmail Brian over there with them,” she answered happily. “I think they’re worth a good couple of months worth of favors.”

“ _He’s your brother!_ ” Steve hissed, low enough that he couldn’t be overheard.

“No he isn’t,” Becca looked at Steve with a smirk. “My brother, James, is in Tibet seeking spiritual enlightenment on a mountain somewhere. That guy is his body double and would gladly take a bullet for him, Brian Johnson. Amazing resemblance, isn’t it?”

Steve shook his head, _what the hell was wrong with this family?_ “Remarkable,” the blond grumbled.

“Oh, by the way Roger, I’d like to personally thank you for fucking over my mother’s plans. It was a real delight to see her sweat in front of the cops tonight.” Becca laughed, a light, merry trill. “My God, she had that coming for months!” The woman shook her head. “Well, I’ll drop by again when it’s politically correct. Until then, don’t tire him out, Roger.” She winked and strode boldly from the room.

Swearing under his breath, Steve turned back to sit in his chair.

Bucky remained leaning into his pillows, eyes open and watching. He’d apparently heard the entire exchange.

“I’m sorry, baby, I - - I didn’t know she was there . . . I wouldn’t have kissed you had I known,” Steve said gently, running his fingers through Bucky’s hair again.

“Don’t let Becca scare you, doll, she’s all rebel and no cause. She loves to rib me, but she won’t publicize those shots. They’re for her own private blackmail, which usually amounts to borrowing money or calling me to come get her when she’s high and not tell our parents.” Bucky sighed and shook his head. “Welcome to my world?” The brunet turned his face to nuzzle at Steve’s hand. “So warm . . .”

Steve shook his head again, _this is the family that supposedly loves you? Right._ He offered the brunet another smile and moved his hand down to caress Bucky’s cheek, rough with facial hair. Steve leaned over again and pressed his lips to Bucky’s for a quick kiss.

Smiling into the kiss, Bucky blinked as Steve pulled back. “Thanks, Stevie,” he whispered.

“For what, baby?” Steve asked gently.

Chuckling, Bucky shook his head, “I graduated from MIT with a higher than 4.0 average, doll. I can figure out who called the cops and got me out of that room. And you even found a way to leave my family mostly blameless. That’s genius.”

Relief flooded Steve’s veins; Bucky wasn’t upset . . . he didn’t hate him. “I couldn’t have you hurting any more,” the blond didn’t mention that the idea had been Sam’s . . . Steve didn’t think Bucky would like knowing that someone else knew the truth.

“My only regret is that Winter wasn’t allowed to come. Jackie’s watching over him,” Bucky sighed.

“I’m sure Jackie will take real good care of Winter. Focus on yourself, baby, I’ll be here when you wake up, okay?” Steve began to card his fingers through the brunet locks again.

“Okay.” Bucky snuggled into his pillow as best he could with his left arm so badly trussed up. “Hey, what’m I supposed to call you? And what’s my name?” he whispered, revealing that this alias thing was nothing new to the Senator’s son.

“You’re Brian Johnson and I’m Roger Stephens,” Steve supplied, watching the brunet closely.

“Okay . . . Roger. Brian. Got it.” And Bucky drifted back into sleep, resting while the pain medicines continued to lace through his system.

Steve sighed softly and sat back in his chair, content to watch Bucky while the brunet slept.


	6. The Threat

A long week later, with no more visits from his own family due to political reasons, Bucky was finally being released from the hospital. The Senator had arranged for a car to come retrieve the _‘guard.’_ Thus, one handed, Bucky stood carefully trying to tuck clothing into his suitcase but failing quite miserably.

“Ya know, Brian, we can take a detour on the way back,” Steve muttered softly; the blond began to help Bucky pack up his things with a smile.

“Where you wanna go, doll?” Bucky asked with a smile, eyes sparking in curious mischief. He’d already had some pain killers that morning and was feeling good.

“Well, Ma’s making some of her special apple pie for dessert and it’d be a crime for you not to be able to try it. I’m sure the Senator won’t mind if his _staff member_ is a bit late.” Steve folded the last of Bucky’s items and shut the suitcase.

Chuckling softly, Bucky glanced over. “Well, since they never could get James over in Tibet, I’m not expected back to work any time soon. So, I think I’m allowed to go wherever I wish for some famous pie.” He leaned over slightly and lifted his chin. “I love your eyes, doll, such a pretty color right this moment.”

Beaming, Steve pressed his lips to Bucky’s, “I love _your_ eyes,” he placed another kiss to Bucky’s cheek, “I love your smile,” he moved to kiss the brunet’s forehead, “I love your laugh.”

“So, tell me the truth, doll, did you fall in love with me over the past week or back in high school?” Bucky chuckled, his look arrested. He seemed unable to take his eyes off the beautiful blond man.

“Hmmm . . . let’s see?” Steve kissed Bucky’s lips again, “you are the person that made me realize I was gay - - so that has to be something. But getting to know the real you is so much better than any magazine article.”

“Me?” Bucky looked surprised and a slow smile spread back over his face. “Well, I figured it out when I kept sneaking peeks of Brock and Jackie in their bedroom when I was fifteen and wishing they’d ask me to join in.” Shrugging his right shoulder, Bucky leaned in for another kiss. “But I can honestly say, you were the man I was waiting for.”

“Brock and Jack are dating?” Steve asked.

“Shhh . . . if the press gets this, my parents will fire them instantly on some trumped up charge.” Bucky glanced towards the door of the hospital room. “And, no they aren’t dating. They’re married. They have been since gay marriage was legalized in DC.”

“Your parent’s are asshats,” Steve grumbled and grabbed Bucky’s suitcase.

“Try living with them,” Bucky sighed. “It’s their way or the highway, and that’s a long, lonely, bumpy road out there.”

“Ain’t so bad,” Steve started as he walked over to the door, holding it open for Bucky, “and you’re not alone . . . ya got me.”

Following the blond, Bucky smiled then slipped through the door. It seemed remarkable that the man seemed to rarely be bothered by anything, finding the good in even his parents. “So, we going to your place? I would love to see where you live.”

“Ain’t all that special,” Steve laughed. 

“And what the hell is this?” a woman’s stern, disapproving voice came to them down the corridor.

“Mama?” Bucky sounded shocked as he looked over.

Whirling to face the voice, Steve looked at the woman who caused Bucky so much pain and suffering. The blond’s eyes narrowed fractionally, “ma’am.”

“You must be the contractor that intervened on behalf of our guard. Thank you for your timely intervention. I think you will be relieved to note that I am relieving your of responsibility for my employee. I will be riding with him back to the mansion and seeing that he gets proper medical care.” The woman relayed her speech perfunctorily with a frown.

“Like before?” Steve nearly growled, stepping closer to Bucky.

Narrowing her eyes, the woman said, “he is a twenty-six year old man. What right do I have to intervene when he directly refuses medical attention? How was I to know he’d crawl into the unused rooms and hide out there? It was a miracle you found him, Mr. Stephens.”

“Yeah and strapping him to a bed was the best answer? Shoving pain pills down his throat?” Steve snapped, voice low.

“I did not, nor have I ever, strapped that man down to anything,” the woman answered. “And I never _shoved_ anything down anyone’s throat unless it was the painful truth.”

Bucky sighed and leaned slightly against the corridor wall, his energy not what it could be since he’d only recently had major surgery. “Can we please not do this here?”

“It’s very polite of you, Ma’am, to want to escort your employee home, but I think we can manage,” Steve almost looked like a dog snarling, protecting one of his own.

Frowning severely, Winifred Barnes grabbed her son by the right arm and forced him back into the hospital room he’d inhabited the last week. “You ungrateful little sot!” she hissed once they were inside.

Following the pair into the room, Steve growled, “hey! Stop!”

“Shut the hell up or I’ll have you arrested,” she snapped at Steve, never taking her eyes from Bucky. “Is this really what you want to do, James? You want to walk off with some nobody during this public scandal you created?”

“Mama,” Bucky whispered, “I didn’t . . .”

“Bullshit!” she hissed, bringing her hand to her nose and pinching the bridge. “I knew you would be the ruin of me. I should have never brought you home from the hospital!”

Pain crossed Bucky’s face and he snapped his mouth shut, eyes welling.

“And you’ll end up ruining everyone in this family, dragging us down with your drinking. And that stunt you pulled. You could have endangered the entire charity!” Shaking her head, the woman glared at the younger man. “You’re just like her, you know that? When my sister got herself knocked up at fifteen . . . _fifteen_! I knew we should have just turned our backs. But no, they asked me, a newlywed, to take her stupid little ass in. And when she had that child, you, I was nominated as the family sacrifice. We let our names be put on your birth certificate and no one was the wiser. And the silly wigeon went and killed herself in some dramatic rebellion over the entire sordid affair.” Winifred shook her head and practically snarled at Bucky. “I have been waiting for you to show your true colors and now you have. You nearly stole _my son’s_ life, but after this? I can say with certainty that you are going to be shunted off to live with your grandparents in obscure disgrace. Matthew will be named as the organization’s de facto creator. I will not have your offensive, dangerous stunts endanger our political chances. We are on the way to the White House, you selfish little shit!”

Bucky looked horrified. “You can’t do that!” he shot back, voice desperate, eyes wide, trying to stand on swaying feet. “I created _‘Paws for Our Heroes!’_ You can’t tell them Matthew did it!” Shaking his head, Bucky accused, “You said it was a foolish hobby. You wouldn’t have even acknowledged it if the President’s son hadn’t needed one of our first dogs!” He seemed unable to process the idea that he might not be a Barnes so chose to worry about the charity instead.

“With all due, respect, Ma’am,” Steve sneered from his spot, “the news story broke just this morning about how James started that charity! You can’t take that away!”

“No one was authorized to print such a thing. We’ll have them print a retraction, say they mixed up the names,” Winifred snarled.

“Good luck with that,” Steve shot the woman a menacing, mocking smirk, “Nick Fury doesn’t back down to bullies. Never has.”

“And just who the hell are you, you little punk?” Winifred turned her full glare on the reporter.

“Just a kid from Brooklyn, Ma’am,” Steve smiled, not backing down; he needed to help Bucky keep what was his, what the brunet had worked so hard for.

“He’s my boyfriend, Mama,” Bucky said softly, his eyes scared but his voice firm. “And he’s the man who saved my life when you and Dad left me in a back room with no medical attention . . .”

She rolled her eyes. “That can be dealt with. You’ve had your sick little experimentation. You will not longer be seeing the man.” Winifred grabbed Bucky’s right arm firmly, and he shuddered, juttering his left arm and eliciting an involuntary whimper.

“He’s an adult! He’s not a kid! He’s allowed to make his own choices!” Steve snapped; he stepped in front of the door, effectively blocking it.

“He is a man who owes several hundreds of thousands of dollars to me and my husband,” she ground out. “I will make his choices for him.”

“Mama, I don’t want to fight with you or Dad. Really. I’ll do whatever you need to hush this scandal, but I . . . I want to be with Steve,” Bucky looked at his mother with wide stormy eyes.

The woman hauled her hand back and slapped the brunet man so hard his head snapped to the side and he stumbled out of her grip, pretty much smashing into the bed and dresser with his left side. Bucky let out a scream and nearly passed out, clutching his arm and sliding to the floor.

Lurching forward, Steve immediately rushed over to his boyfriend, “Bucky!” The blond knelt down to check on the brunet with large worried eyes.

The door slammed open and a nurse ran in. “What happened? Mr. Johnson, are you okay?” Several patients, visitors, and staff members stood in the hall trying to see what was happening.

Bucky, still clutching his wounded arm, looked up and shook his head. “No, not Johnson.”

“Don’t you dare!” Winifred warned.

Bucky sat forward, still panting, and ground out, “I’m James Barnes, and I was held in captivity for three months after I was attacked by a dog. I want to press charges of kidnapping with intent to harm . . . a federal crime punishable by the death penalty in some states I understand?” He lifted steel-cold eyes up to the lady who’d raised him. “Aren’t I right, _Aunt_ Winifred.”

“He’s telling the truth,” Steve said firmly; he wrapped his arm around Bucky’s shoulders, “I saw the room in which he was kept, that’s the reason I put in the tip.”

“And I’ve got pictures,” Becca’s voice called cheerfully from the hallway. “See? There’s my cousin James, you know, the one my parents have been telling everyone is my older brother? There he is tied to the bed. There he is soiled because they had detained the guard who was trying to care for him. Oh, and there he is kissing his boyfriend, aren’t they cute?” Becca held her phone for those nearby to see, her eyes never leaving her mother’s.


	7. The Escape

The story broke that very afternoon; the Barnes’ family couldn’t cover up the public revelations made by the two oldest siblings, or rather cousins, if the rumors could be proven. Sam had covered the disclosure like a pro, reporting Steve’s findings with all the aplomb and relish of a true investigative reporter with the juiciest story in the century.

Steve watched, from his living room, in a mix of horror and relief as a newscaster reported the story second hand, trying to glean more information from a truly silent household. However, what made Steve’s blood run cold were the images of Winifred and George Barnes being put into the back of a police cruiser . . . both handcuffed and looking livid.

Beside him, right hand tangled with Steve’s, breath coming in stuttering sobs, sat Bucky, crying through the coverage and the horrifying turn his life had taken. The brunet had his face buried in Steve’s neck, a man he’d only known just over a week but had been more honest with him than anyone else in twenty-six years.

Steve soothingly rubbed Bucky’s back, trying to calm the brunet down; the blond reached over to the coffee table and grabbed the remote, turning off the screen. “Hey, Buck . . . take deep breaths, baby. It’s going to be okay.”

“I . . . I’m selfish . . . I don’t want this . . . I don’t want to hurt them, Stevie.” He continued to burrow into Steve’s side, his body trembling, his left arm spasming lightly. It wasn’t certain just how long ago Bucky might have bothered to take his pain meds since he’d been running half-shocked since the fight in the hospital.

“I know, baby,” Steve cooed, pressing his lips to Bucky’s hair, “but you had to do _something_. They weren’t going to let you go.”

The brunet shook his head, reluctantly accepting that necessity. “I’m going to lose _Paws_ , Steve. They’ll shut it down because of the dog attack.”

“They’re not going to shut it down, Buck,” Steve said gently, although he didn’t know the entire story. Bucky had yet to explain the entire attack to him, but the blond wasn’t about to push the distraught man to explain further.

“She didn’t mean it, Stevie. She was scared. It was an accident,” Bucky sobbed, fingers of his right hand clutching at Steve’s fingers.

“The dog attack?” Steve prodded gently, voice soothing and calm.

Nodding, Bucky sobbed. “Yeah. I lost it. I broke and just started and couldn’t stop. I can’t really remember anything, but Jack pulled me out. Saved my life. But she didn’t mean it.”

Steve nodded, even though the explanation didn’t make much sense to him; the blond continued to rub circles on the small of Bucky’s back. “It was an accident, baby. They aren’t gonna shut down the charity because of an accident.”

“Mama said they’d say I was irresponsible and couldn’t be trusted . . . that my drinking would make them shut down the charity.” Bucky shook his head, “but I swear I’ve never done that before. A drink or two in a night, that’s all. It was the only time, and I destroyed the one thing that meant anything to me!”

“Bucky, baby, look at me,” Steve ordered gently.

Bucky lifted tear-drenched grey-blue eyes, his face flushed, his eyes bloodshot. He looked miserable.

“No one is going to take _Paws_ away from you. That story Sam and I wrote? Already has over a million hits and it just got published this morning,” Steve lifted his free hand and wiped at Bucky’s eyes.

“And how many more hits for the story that the founder got drunk and fell into the isolation kennel, getting attacked by one of the observation dogs, and mauled so bad he nearly lost his arm?” Bucky sobbed, dropped his face. “They’d going to say I’m out of control and my dogs are vicious. But, Steve, she’d been rescued from an alcoholic abuser. She wasn’t being trained for _Paws_. I just needed a place to keep her to rehabilitate her as a family pet.”

Sighing softly, Steve pulled Bucky back into a hug, cradling the smaller man against his chest, “I know you don’t believe it right now . . . but _Paws_ will be fine and you will continue to run it, Buck. No one is going to blame you or the dog. It was a tragic accident . . . accidents happen all the time.”

“That bitch already had the dog destroyed, Steve!” Bucky whimpered. “It was an accident. She didn’t deserve to die!” He seemed uncaring that he’d just referred to Winifred Barnes by such a term.

Kissing Bucky’s head again, Steve said, “no, she didn’t. But - - we can’t change that. All we can do is help more dogs like her, right?”

Bucky nodded, lifting his face. He grabbed Steve by the collar, much like the day they met just over a week ago. “I need you, Stevie,” he whimpered and tugged the blond into a fierce, desperate kiss.

Steve’s hands immediately wrapped around Bucky’s waist, pulling the brunet to his lap as he returned the desperate kiss with a low groan.

Softly, Sarah’s voice broke over the men. “Steve? Did you want to show Bucky to a room so he can rest?”

Pulling away, breath coming out in pants, Steve kissed Bucky’s forehead and then helped the brunet to his feet.

“Think I’m due for my pain stuff,” Bucky whimpered. He leaned into Steve heavily. His entire life had crashed down around him, and the brunet saw very little light after this dark tunnel.

Nodding, Steve grabbed Bucky’s suitcase that had been propped against the couch as they’d watched the news story. With his free hand, the blond took Bucky’s right hand and led him up the stairs into the small guest room. Setting the suitcase on the full-sized bed, Steve began to sift through its contents to look for Bucky’s pain medication.

Bucky allowed the man to lead him, to help him. When they got to the room, he sank onto the bed and reached for the suitcase so he could get his drugs.

Pulling out three bottles, Steve looked over at the brunet, “which one?”

Bucky shrugged his right shoulder and sobbed slightly. “I don’t know. I’ll just take one of each. For the last three months I’ve just been taking it when the pain comes back anyway. Who cares?”

Frowning, Steve looked down at the bottles and then back over at Bucky, “I care, Buck. You can’t be messing with this strong of meds.” The blond moved to look through the suitcase again to see if the doctor gave Bucky a list or something with instructions on which medication to take at what time.

“One never works, Steve. The pain’s too much,” Bucky said on a sigh.

The papers were at the bottom of the bag, but so were Bucky’s previous meds, the ones his family had illegally acquired for him. Grabbing the paper, Steve read through the instructions and picked out the right bottle; shaking out the required dose, the blond handed it to Bucky, “maybe these ones are different? Stronger than the ones your parent’s got you?”

“Okay,” Bucky willingly took what Steve gave him. He drank down a swig of soda to wash them down. His entire manner was dejected, depressed, and it triggered something in Steve’s memory. The paperwork had mentioned some aftereffects of trying to deal with a near amputation mangling injury. Depression was a major problem, along with feelings of uselessness, inadequacy, and fear. With the problems in his family life, and the threats to the charity, Bucky was ripe for depression and possible suicidal ideations.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, next to Bucky, Steve wrapped his arm around the brunet. “I care, baby, I care about you so much.”

“Why?” Bucky asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice, lifting his face so he could meet Steve’s eyes.

“Because you are honestly one of the kindest, most loving, and sweetest people I know. The way your smile always lights up a room makes my heart ache . . .” Steve stopped when Bucky spoke up.

Shaking his head, Bucky said, “we’ve know each other, what, nine days? Ten? No one bothers to get to know me that deeply . . . I’m just the fucking media darling that keeps the voters from abhorring my family completely.”

“Let me get to know you that deeply,” Steve offered quietly, “I don’t care about your political views or if your crazy-ass father is running for presidency or not. I care about you. I want to get to know everything about you . . . I want to be the one that makes you laugh and smile and the person you feel like you can always come to.”

Sobbing softly, Bucky pulled Steve into another wet kiss, more desperate than anything else. “I need you, Stevie. I need you to keep me sane in this fucked up world.”

“I’m right here, baby,” Steve breathed against Bucky’s lips, “I’ll always be right here, right behind you. You don’t ever gotta be alone again.”

Nodding, kissing Steve repeatedly, Bucky breathed between kisses, “promise me Steve . . . promise me . . . that if you . . . when you know me . . . you’ll tell me . . . if you want someone else?”

“I won’t want anyone else, Buck,” Steve said softly.

Bucky ripped his mouth from Steve’s, opening his eyes, and groaned, voice filled with need and fear, “I’ve seen too many couples shattered after years together because they grew stale, Steve . . . and they hated each other for it. I wanna know. I want you to tell me to my face, so I don’t hear about it behind my back. I want you to just tell me if someone else makes you happier.” Bucky moved his face to Steve’s neck and began kissing the flesh there.

Moaning, a jolt of pleasure running down his spine, Steve groaned, “no one is going to make me happier . . . but I promise, I’ll tell you. It won’t happen, though. Sorry, you’re stuck with me for the long haul.”

Sobbing, Bucky wrapped his right arm around Steve tightly. He moaned at his own pain but held on, burying his face deep in Steve’s throat and kissing his Adam's apple. “I must be in love, because I’m addicted to you, doll,” he moaned.

Throwing his head back and releasing a low groan, Steve’s eyes closed and he murmured, “I love you, Buck . . . I _need_ you.”

“Made for each other,” Bucky whispered, his arm relaxing a bit, leaning heavily into Steve, kissing lightly at the blond’s throat.

“Buck . . .” Steve moaned, his member beginning to strain against the fabric of his trousers, his neck had always been a sensitive spot for him, and it seemed like Bucky knew just where to kiss for Steve to feel the most amount of pleasure, “Buck . . . I - - God! The things you do to me.”

“I need you, Stevie,” Bucky whispered, his lips vibrating against Steve’s Adam's apple. Moving his right hand, caressing down Steve’s back, the wounded brunet shifted his weight and let out a tiny whimper.

Steve pulled back slightly and took a deep breath, bright blue eyes searching Bucky’s face, he didn’t know if he and Bucky were on the same page right now - - the brunet seemed so desperate . . . but for what . . . Steve wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to take advantage of the distraught man.

Breaking off his kisses, leaning his head on Steve’s shoulder, Bucky murmured, “need you . . .” He seemed to be letting Steve take most of his weight.

Wrapping his arm around Bucky’s waist, Steve ran the other hand down the brunet’s spine, “I’m right here, baby.”

The brunet murmured incomprehensibly and his right hand slid down to Steve’s hip, loosely balanced on the fabric at Steve’s waist, but he wasn’t making any serious or dramatic movements. In fact, Bucky seemed to be moving slowly, calmly, almost lethargically.

Taking a deep breath, Steve shifted so that he could shut Bucky’s suitcase and carefully set it down on the floor. Not letting go of his boyfriend, the blond laid down on the small bed, pulling Bucky down with him, mindful of the injury. 

Letting out a small whimper, Bucky shifted on his right side, nuzzling against Steve’s warmth. “Mmmm . . .” His pain was still there, but the heavy drug had knock it to a very low hum.

The blond began to run his fingers through Bucky’s hair, the other caressing the small of his back, “I’m right here, Buck,” Steve murmured and placed a gentle kiss into the brunet locks.

Cracking his eyes open briefly, Bucky gave his sweet smile and said, “my . . . Stevie.” His eyes slid shut and the _'golden boy'_ let out a deep, contented sigh, sinking into a drug-and-stress induced sleep, letting his new boyfriend help take the weight of the world off his tired shoulders.


End file.
